


Your crooked love... deleted scenes

by earlgreytea68



Series: Devil!Patrick [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68
Summary: Here are a bunch of scenes I wrote for Your crooked love... and then discarded. I saved them in case I wanted to use bits and pieces later, which sometimes I did.





	Your crooked love... deleted scenes

_Honestly, I don’t usually rewrite as much as I did in this fic, but I really kept having no idea where this fic ought to be going and making missteps that had to be cleaned up. Here are the ones I saved._

_***_

_This scene was originally how the scene where Patrick shows up at the bar the night of Pete’s gig went. I felt like it made Pete too vulnerable too soon. Like, I think Pete is feeling rough when Patrick shows up that night – he’s out of sorts with him – but Pete telling Patrick the extent to which he was feeling it seemed like too much for a Pete who didn’t trust Patrick yet. So this scene ended up being more for Pete to tell me how he was feeling, and then I rewrote it._

Pete looks rough generally, Patrick thinks. He’s normally a tremendous sloppy mess but it looks _intentional_ , whereas this just looks…messy.

“You okay?” Patrick asks, as Pete is now tugging on a tangled cord and cursing. He doesn’t seem at all okay.

“Please go away,” Pete says without looking at him. “I don’t have the energy for you today, I barely got myself out of bed to come and do this and do you really need to—” Pete pulls on the cord so hard that an amp behind them falls over with a crash. “Goddamn it,” says Pete, and sits down on the stage with a sigh.

Patrick, after a second, walks over to pick the amp up. Then he turns back to Pete, who’s curled himself up into a ball on the side of the stage. He doesn’t look at all like the Pete who commands attention and drips charisma and flirts with cocky smiles. Patrick sits down next to him and says, “Where’s the rest of your band?”

Pete breathes wetly. “They’re mad at me. I’ve been…a mess.”

“So, what? They just left you here to perform all by yourself?” Patrick asks it calmly but in his head he’s already adding their names to Gabe’s list.

“No. They’ll show up. I’m sure.” Pete’s silent for a second. “Or maybe they won’t. It won’t be the first band I’ve broken up by being a mess. Lucky you, you get to be here for Arma’s last non-show. Or my first non-show. Whatever.”

Patrick wishes Pete would touch him, so he could get a better handle on his thoughts. He says, “Your band was terrible, this is no great loss.”

“ _I’m_ terrible,” says Pete. “They were pretty good.”

“Pete. You’re the opposite of terrible.”

“I’m a terrible bass player,” says Pete. “You thought it would have been a good thing for the planet if I’d broken my wrist when you pushed me in front of the car.”

Okay, Patrick can’t deny that. He sighs. He looks at Pete. Pete is…sad. That’s obvious. He’s hurting. He’s feeling low and unsure of himself. This is prime deal-with-the-Devil time. This is when you close your fingers around a soul and don’t let go, when the humans have forgotten how much a soul is worth.

Patrick doesn’t want Pete’s soul. He chokes on the sentence in his head. _You could have the show of your life tonight. Listen to my terms_.

Pete sits up suddenly. “Look, you already made it clear you don’t want me, so what are you even doing here? You want to rub it in? Nobody wants Pete Wentz? Congratulations, Patrick. Newsflash: Not even Pete Wentz wants Pete Wentz, okay? Message received.”

***

_I struggled so much with Patrick’s apology scene to Pete, with striking the balance between what Patrick needed to say and how much Pete needed to hear. I scrapped this version because it felt like a dead end that wasn’t going anywhere. Pete here was never going to get past his suspicion that Patrick was just feeding his lines. I felt like I needed to start over with something that would make Pete listen. I think part of the issue, honestly, was Patrick was too overwrought here. It came across as showy instead of sincere. So I made him less needy, and that made him feel more like Patrick. The other thing I dialed back was Patrick’s feeling of not deserving Pete, which is more muted in the fic than it comes across in this scene. This scene made it hard to justify Patrick showing up here at all instead of letting Pete go._

Pete gives him a look and says, “You should say something, I think.”

“Like sorry?” asks Patrick, which is a poor attempt at a joke.

“I don’t know, Patrick,” drawls Pete. “What do _you_ think you should say?”

And Patrick doesn’t know. He tried to plan a million different things to say, a million different ways to say _sorry, sorry, sorry, take me back, give me another chance, I’ll be so much better, sorry, sorry_. None of them seem right now.

Patrick drops to his knees and puts his head on Pete’s lap, and not in a _sexy_ way, just because he…he…wants to be _near_ him. “Pete,” he says.

Pete’s hands knock Patrick’s hat over his head to stroke through his hair, and Patrick can feel him brush a kiss over his head, and he closes his eyes in grateful relief.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I’m so bad at this.”

“Your friends love you a lot,” Pete remarks. “I don’t know why you felt like you couldn’t trust them. I feel like maybe you have trust issues.”

Patrick chokes out a laugh. “I probably have a lot of trust issues, yes.”

Pete sighs and keeps carding his fingers through Patrick’s hair. “The thing is, I’ve been in that kind of relationship before. The kind where I’m this secret thing to be ashamed of, hidden away, not taken seriously, just… I deserve better than that. I deserve to be liked, and respected, and not just…not just fucked.”

Patrick lifts his head, dislodging Pete’s fingers, to nod fervently. “Yes, yes, you deserve so much better than that. Pete. You should be shown off. You’re amazing. I think you’re amazing. I can’t believe how amazing you are. I don’t deserve you. I really don’t. But I want to be better for you. I don’t know if I can ever get to what you deserve but if I could… If you would be willing to let me try… Then.” Patrick doesn’t know how to finish, so he just kind of shrugs.

“I want to believe you,” Pete says brokenly, “but you have pretty words. Like I said. You have good lines. You’re…so terrifyingly easy to fall for.”

“What can I do?” begs Patrick.

Pete looks at him for so long that Patrick is convinced he’s going to turn him away, and he closes his eyes so he won’t have to watch Pete’s face when he does it.

***

_God, the conversations with the demons went through SO MANY REWRITES. The demons ended up being the place where I had to figure out the plot. They were the one who kept asking the questions about what Patrick was doing. In a scene with Pete, Patrick just had to be in love. In a scene with the demons, Patrick had to be the ~Devil~, and that was so challenging to figure out. This was one of the plot moments, trying to deal with Alvin’s visit in the aftermath of Patrick’s commitment to the relationship with Pete. I ended up rewriting because it seemed too…not-demon-y. I don’t know, the conversation wasn’t working, they weren’t asking the questions I needed to figure out what was going to happen next._

“Patrick,” says Joe, from somewhere down around Patrick’s feet.

“Hmm?” says Patrick.

“What did Alvin want?”

“Joe,” Brendon complains, “you’re ruining this nice post-music moment we’re all having.”

“Sorry,” says Joe scathingly, “for wanting to know what the all-powerful being who keeps us employed wanted with our boss.”

“Alvin’s not who keeps us employed,” Patrick says, “and he isn’t all-powerful, either. He’s just obsessed with our music, for some reason.”

“Because it’s good,” says Gabe confidently.

“Well,” says Patrick, “I don’t know about _that_.”

Gabe’s foot kicks at Patrick’s head, although the angle’s not right to get any momentum behind it. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’m the Devil,” Patrick points out.

“Whatever,” Gabe grumbles. “I want my own band. I don’t want to be part of Brendon’s performance art.”

“I don’t want you to be part of it,” Brendon retorts. “I’m being my own band, remember? Panic! at the Disco.”

“Patrick, whose band are you going to be in?” William asks. “I’m starting my own band, too.”

“What’s your band going to be called?” asks Patrick.

“The Academy Is,” says William.

“The academy is what?” says Patrick.

“Exactly,” answers William.

“None of you know how to name a band,” Patrick sighs.

“Your human’s band has some Latin name,” Joe remarks.

“Not ‘my’ human,” Patrick reminds him.

“Are you joining your human’s band?” Brendon asks with interest.

***

_I actually really loved this as a chapter end, but it was such a drastic action from Patrick that I ended up having him do it in private rather than in front of the demons. Patrick had too much still to work through to be so decisive here. Also, I shifted away from the plan to have them all form bands in the fic, so Brendon’s little comment was kind of pointless in the context of the fic as it developed._

Patrick gets up and walks over to his doorway and looks at his desk. And then he sets the whole things alight in flames and turns away from it.

His demons have all sat up, watching him in shock.

“Well,” Patrick says. “If it wasn’t pointless, I guess God will have to come down and talk to me about the end of the paperwork stream. In the meantime, we’re going to make music.”

“First one with a top ten hit wins,” says Brendon.

***

_I kept writing and writing this scene and finally I just had to admit that it wasn’t right and go back and restart it. It turned into the scene where Pete loses his keys and then gives that lovely “what’s next” speech to Patrick. I felt two things about this scene: (1) Although I love Patrick’s weary existential crisis and how much he just wants to crawl to Pete to make things better, it, again, didn’t feel much like the Devil version of Patrick. And (2) I could not justify Patrick letting himself into Pete’s apartment when he’d just berated Joe about it. I went back initially to fix that moment, because it felt like the moment where it went wrong, and then once I did that, Pete was no longer straightening his hair, and he was playful and happy to see Patrick instead of startled and distracted, and it changed the whole tenor of the scene and I felt like it worked much better. Patrick is still having an existential crisis, but it isn’t as overwrought. It occurs to me that most of the issues with this fic were the result of my wanting Patrick to be more overwrought than suited the character._

Patrick lets himself into Pete’s building, because it’s not like locks are a thing that keep out demons, as Joe proved. In the tiny entry of Pete’s apartment the plant has spread out, not as bountiful as it was when Joe had to wade his way through it but happier than Patrick had left it. He’s pleased to see it doing well, and brushes a finger over one of its leaves on his way past it. The leaf curls briefly around his finger in greeting, and Patrick says, “Hi to you, too,” and then moves farther into the apartment.

Pete is blasting Kendrick Lamar but is nowhere in the bedroom or living area. Patrick finds him in the bathroom, straightening his hair, and when he catches sight of Patrick he jumps and drops the straightener. Patrick catches it before it hits the floor and hands it back to him.

“Jesus,” Pete says, pressing a hand to his chest. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“Not Jesus,” Patrick corrects, and nuzzles behind Pete’s ear because he can’t help it. Pete is as warm and soft as he left him, so, so very _Pete_.

“Yeah, I know. How’d you get in here? Stupid question. You’re the Devil. Can you not break into my apartment, either? Like, at least wait until I give you a key or something, right?”

Patrick stiffens and then shifts away from Pete. “Oh,” he says. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t think—I didn’t realize—Fuck, I am _so bad_ at this.” The bathroom faucet turns itself on. Patrick looks at it dully.

Pete leans over and shuts it off and says, “Okay, it’s not a big deal, just, you know, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I’ll knock next time,” Patrick promises. “Or buzz. Or whatever.”

Pete’s head is tipped at him, his amber eyes settled on him. “You okay?”

Patrick opens his mouth to say he’s fine, then closes it and shakes his head. “Not particularly.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I’m having an existential crisis,” says Patrick.

“I would imagine that the Devil’s existential crisis is a pretty major one,” remarks Pete, cocking his hip against the sink.

“It’s a little exhausting,” says Patrick.

“Is it my fault?” asks Pete, studying him closely.

“It’s _my_ fault,” says Patrick honestly, and then sighs heavily.

Pete reaches for him, closes a hand around his and tugs him in, and his thoughts are tinted blue and purple, achingly soft around the edges, wrapping around Patrick like a warm, comforting layer of wool. Patrick relaxes into them, into Pete, his face against Pete’s neck, his hands broad on Pete’s back, holding him close.

Pete murmurs, “You’re okay. It’s okay,” and kisses behind his ear. They’re nonsense words, and demonstrably not true, but Patrick clings to them, shocked by how valuable they feel to him, how much he wants them and _needs_ them.

“I’m just tired,” Patrick mumbles. “Existential crises are exhausting.”

“Depression is exhausting,” Pete replies. “I know all about it. Which is why you should come out with me instead of curling up in my bed and sleeping. Which you’re welcome to do if you want. But you should come out with me.”

Patrick has no desire to be in Pete’s bed without Pete, even though he also doesn’t feel like going out. “Where are you going?”

“I have a gig,” Pete says.

Patrick breathes against Pete. “Asking you to skip the gig for me is probably a terrible-boyfriend thing to do, isn’t it?”

“It’s one of your more human impulses,” Pete promises him. “But it’s no good. Come with me. You’ll have fun.”

Patrick doubts it. He makes a dubious noise.

“It’ll get you out of your head,” Pete adds.

“You could get me out of my clothes to get me out of my head,” suggests Patrick hopefully.

“Later,” Pete says. “With pleasure.” He shoves him gently away, so he can turn back to his hair.

Patrick can’t help that he feels a little rejected. He tries not to. He knows Pete’s not rejecting him. But it _feels_ that way.

Feeling sulky and full of self-pity, he goes out into Pete’s living room and curls up on his couch and focuses on making the record player break, a little pleased when he accomplishes it.

“Fix it!” Pete calls from the bathroom.

So Patrick sighs and focuses on fixing it, letting Kendrick fill the room again.

“Do you not like Kendrick?” Pete asks as he comes into the living room.

“He’s fine,” Patrick says dismissively.

“ _Fine_ ,” Pete echoes. “He’s not _fine_. Jesus. That ‘Jesus’ is absolutely called for there, don’t even call me on it.” Pete looks down at him on the couch and says, “You’re really in bad shape, aren’t you?”

“I want to… I want…” Patrick doesn’t know what he wants. “Maybe I’ve been doing busywork for centuries.”

“Welcome to the club, Patrick. We’re all doing fucking busywork.” But he doesn’t say it meanly. He says it sympathetically, sitting on the floor next to the couch.

“No, you’re not. You’re doing great and beautiful things.”

“I thought you said my music is terrible,” teases Pete gently.

“I don’t mean your music.”

Pete looks at him seriously. “I don’t pretend to know what it’s like in the Devil’s head. I can only tell you what it’s like in _my_ head when I’m feeling like this. And in my head I feel like nothing good will ever happen again, that everything is impossible, and that no one really loves me, it’s all just a lie. And I also don’t believe people when they try to tell me otherwise. But I am also terrified that they’ll stop trying to tell me otherwise. Because I think I always know in the very back of my brain that eventually I’m going to believe them. So.” Pete very deliberately picks up Patrick’s hand and threads their fingers together. “It feels bad now. I know it does. I’m sorry. I’m still crazy about you, though. Come to the show with me. You can hide in the corner. Or you can let everyone make much of you because you’re dating the band’s super-hot front man. Either or.”

Patrick looks at their joined hands, focuses on Pete’s warm, flowing thoughts, which feel like they’re getting him unstuck. “So it’s a big deal then?” he says, trying for banter. “Dating Pete Wentz?”

Pete’s thoughts pulse with delight over the banter attempt. “The hugest deal. The only thing bigger than dating Pete Wentz is the Devil. We’re the ultimate power couple, angel.”

“Uh-huh,” says Patrick drily.

Pete grins at him and leans forward to nuzzle him into a kiss. “Are you reading my thoughts?” he whispers.

“Yes,” Patrick admits.

“Good. They’re good thoughts. I was hoping they might help. Come to the gig with me. I kind of want to show you off a little bit. You know how it is. I don’t date a lot of hot, nice people.”

“You’re not dating one now,” Patrick says.

“You’re wrong,” Pete replies simply. And then he gets up and tugs at Patrick. “Come on.”

Patrick lets himself be lured. He still isn’t really in the mood but Pete is helping, Pete’s frivolous thoughts infectious as they make their way to the L. Pete keeps up a running commentary about everything and nothing. Patrick is barely paying attention but the chattering is nice. Pete has their hands curled together in the pocket of Patrick’s coat, and that’s nice, too.

Patrick’s L pass is still tucked in his pocket and he follows Pete into the station like he does it all the time. The train is more crowded than the last time he took it but they get seats and Pete curls up next to him, head on his shoulder, and it’s nice. Patrick can see their reflection in the dark window across from them, and they look like…like a happy, loving couple on an evening out, and not a Devil in love with a human and trying to figure out how to make it work. The _ordinariness_ of this makes Patrick feel better. Like, he’d been pretending with Pete the entire time, and maybe he can just keep doing that, even though Pete knows the truth.

His mood is lifting by gradual degrees by the time they get to the bar, and Pete says, “Good,” to him, and kisses his cheek. “See, I knew getting you out of the house would help.”

“Huh?” says Patrick, surprised.

“You’re feeling better, right?”

“Yes, but how did you know? Can you read my thoughts, too?” Patrick supposes anything is possible.

Pete laughs. “No. You’re humming.”

“I’m humming?”

“Just a little bit. Under your breath. Saves the Day. Which I guess is what the Devil hums when he’s happy.”

Patrick hadn’t realized he was humming at all.

Pete leads him into the bar, where Pete is, naturally, greeted like a returning hero, the Pied Piper of the scene. Everyone descends upon him happily. Patrick hangs back a little, unsure, until Travie and Victoria emerge from the crowd.

“Look who’s still around,” Travie says to Patrick approvingly.

“Yes,” Patrick says.

“Good,” Victoria says, and beams at him. “You were rough there for a while, but you seem to have evened out.”

“Not that we’re not still watching you,” adds Travie.

“Closely,” says Victoria. “Like hawks.” Victoria indicates her eyes, then points at Patrick.

Patrick thinks that Pete’s friends are more terrifying than any of his demons.

“Okay, you two,” Pete says, slipping himself in between Victoria and Travie to get to Patrick. “Be nice, I’m keeping this one, I don’t want you to scare him away.”

“We might even _let_ you keep this one,” says Victoria.

“I don’t know,” says Travie. “I wouldn’t go that far. We’ll see.”

“He’s a good one,” Pete says. “I promise. I’m being better. Patrick, tell them what a nice person you are.”

“I am literally the Devil,” Patrick tells Pete’s friends.

“He is _hilarious_ ,” says Pete, grinning at him. “Isn’t he the funniest?”

“You’re besotted,” comments Victoria, sounding amused.

“A little bit,” says Pete. “The tiniest bit.”

***

_Okay, the demon scene after the Alvin burning was another scene that got rewritten A LOT. I had not planned for Alvin to burn Patrick. Actually, I threw Alvin into that club scene because I felt like it was going nowhere and I needed something to happen. I loved the burn scene and I felt like it felt exactly right and exactly what ought to happen, but then I needed to deal with the demons in the aftermath, and I just couldn’t decide what was going to happen next. Nothing I wrote felt right. I used bits and pieces of this version in the final version but Patrick’s lecture that his demons really do like him seemed ridiculous to me. It’s so obvious they love him dearly, and I don’t think any of them would really protest that. It also felt like it was too easy, too simple, too perfect for him to get the demons in line here. He had to do almost no persuading at all. That didn’t seem right. Also, Pete is sidelined in the whole conversation, and no one ever sidelines Pete Wentz. So yeah, the whole thing got a rewrite._

“What did Alvin say to you?” Patrick asks him calmly.

“He said that you might be in trouble,” Joe says. “I assumed that maybe Pete had done something to you. You can’t trust humans. You know that.”

“You can’t trust all of them, but you can definitely trust some of them. Just like you can’t trust all angels, either, it turns out. Alvin said I might be in trouble and all of you stampeded in search of me. If I disappeared, your lives would be so much easier. One of you would get to be Devil, and you wouldn’t have to deal with how mopey and difficult I’ve been lately. Why would you come in search of me? Because Pete’s right. You care about me. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

There is a long silence. No one says anything.

And then Patrick says softly, “Brendon, come here.”

“Okay,” Brendon says slowly, plainly uncertain, but he drifts closer to Patrick.

Patrick looks at Brendon, who wants to be a one-demon band. He says, “Don’t you want to know what happens with Panic! at the Disco?”

Brendon boggles at him. “You said it right. You said it with the exclamation point.”

Patrick says, “Brendon, your greatest recent achievement is Monsanto. Think about that. I mean, the company’s not great, sure, but the end result is that you were trying to help humans grow more food.”

“I don’t know if it really helped in the end,” Brendon says.

“Right. But what I’m saying is. Everything is choices, Brendon.” Patrick presses his hand against Brendon’s chest, flat against the t-shirt he’s wearing. And Brendon doesn’t flinch in pain. Brendon looks down at Patrick’s hand in amazement.

“Hang on,” he says, and looks back up at Patrick. “How are you doing this?”

“Everything’s a choice,” Patrick says. “It’s not falling in love that made me like this. It’s the _choice_. It’s remembering I’m Patrick and not the Devil, and that the only thing keeping me the Devil was my _choice_. Was the fact that I didn’t step up and say no. We’re demons because we made bad choices, but we can fix that. We have the potential to be completely different. The same way Alvin has the potential to fall. God isn’t running this show. God is hands-off. You know what that means? That it’s up to _us_. That we can do whatever we want. That we can make different choices. If a demon is temptation, we can define what that temptation is.”

“Do you think so?” Andy asks.

Brendon lifts up his shirt, where his angel burn is completely gone. “Huh,” he says.

“Do you think God would let us do this?” Gabe asks.

“God’s so hands-off you guys don’t even think She exists. So yes. If this is Her game, that She’s not running things, that we have to run it ourselves, then yes. This is the only thing She wants us to do. She’s been waiting for this the whole time.”

“You really think God’s plan is for the demons from Hell to save the world?” asks William.

“No,” Patrick says. “I don’t think God has a plan. I think God’s plan was to let us choose who we wanted to be. I want to make a different choice. Who’s with me?”

There is another long moment of silence, and Patrick holds his breath, worried that he got this all wrong, and his demons are going to abandon him, and it’s just going to be him and Pete facing this together. He can handle it with Pete by his side but these demons have been his closes friends for centuries. He doesn’t want to walk away from them now.

And luckily he doesn’t have to, because William raises his hand first and says, “I’m in,” followed almost immediately by Andy and Brendon and Gabe, and Mikey and Gerard at the same instant.

Patrick looks nervously at Joe.

***

_Another version of the post-burn demon scene. Again, Patrick trying to convince the demons they loved things just seemed like a total tangent._

But the thing is: He’s in love. Yes. He’s obviously in love. But he’s also waking up from a long time when he didn’t let himself care, because if he let himself care he’d be destroyed by what he’s been doing. Pete’s steadiness next to him has been the only reason he can let himself really _think_ now. Because maybe he can do something to redeem himself.

Patrick looks at his demons, who have always tried to help him, who have always been supportive, who don’t understand why he’s having an existential crisis but calmly dealt with it anyway. His demons who came to Pete to convince him to give Patrick another chance, just because it would make Patrick happy. His demons who leaped enthusiastically at the chance to make music. His demons who love him. And Patrick says suddenly, confident in the truth of this, “You already care.”

Joe looks dubious. The other demons are silent and inscrutable, watching the interaction. “We care?” he says. “We hate humans. We’ve spent centuries talking about how awful and hateful humans are.”

“The ones we work with are, yeah. They’re terrible. But you love Earth. This whole thing started because you wouldn’t leave me alone about coming to Earth. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t miss this place if it disappeared. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t miss music.”

Joe scowls. “That’s different. That’s not—"

***

_This was a little dialogue exchange after Pete said the earthquake made the news. I liked it a lot, but decided introducing the idea of the Apocalypse didn’t work for the fic. And also I decided I didn’t want to deal with God, so Patrick wanting to talk to Her here just made the fic feel like it needed to veer toward God, and I didn’t want that._

He reads out loud, “Probably a sign of the coming Apocalypse?”

“It’s a joke,” Pete says. “They don’t really mean it.”

“Could be a sign of the coming Apocalypse,” Joe says.

Patrick scowls. “That’s not _helpful_.”

“Well, I’m just saying, we don’t know the Apocalypse _isn’t_ coming,” Joe defends himself sulkily.

“I have to talk to God,” Patrick mutters, and fiddles with his hat.

***

_STILL rewriting the post-burn demon scene. In this version I had this idea that Alvin would think Patrick was dead and that would give Patrick an opening for… I don’t know. Which is why this version eventually got rejected._

“If God exists,” Joe points out.

Patrick glares at him from under the brim of his hat.

Gabe says, “Stop talking, bro.”

Patrick makes a decision and gets to his feet. “Let’s go somewhere that’s not Pete’s apartment.”

“Why?” asks Pete.

“Because I don’t want Alvin in your apartment,” Patrick says.

“Why would Alvin come here?” Pete asks. “You’re so worried he’s about to break the door down.”

“Because he’s going to want to know that his burn did its work,” says Patrick.

“No, he’s not,” Andy says.

Patrick looks at him. “You sound very certain.”

“He doesn’t think there’s any reason to doubt that his burn did its work,” Andy replies calmly.

Patrick tips his head, realizing what Andy’s saying. He looks at his group of demons, who descended here _en masse_. “What did Alvin say to you?”

“He told us to look for you,” Joe says. “He said we could search high and low.”

“Because he didn’t think you’d find me,” Patrick concludes.

His demons don’t say anything. That’s the obvious conclusion.

“We’re glad you’re not dead,” Brendon says after a moment of silence. And then, after another moment, “Thanks, Pete.”

“Don’t mention it,” Pete says. “I’m glad he’s not dead, too.”

“But what if I’m dead?” Patrick says.

Pete looks at him. “You’re _not_.”

“But what if I was?” He looks at his demons. “I just told you I wanted to save the world.”

“Yeah,” William says, “ _how_?”

Patrick catches Joe’s eyes. “You don’t think there’s a God.”

Joe shrugs. “I haven’t seen evidence of one.”

“So that leaves me,” says Patrick. “If there’s no God, then I’m the closest thing we’ve got. If there’s no God, then what are all these fucking rules I’ve been pretending to pay attention to? Why are we inventing health insurance and the airline industry and Monsanto? Why don’t we... Why don’t we invent good things? Why don’t we invent...” Patrick looks at Pete. “What are some good things?”

Pete considers. “Dogs?” he suggests.

“Okay, well, we can’t invent _dogs_.”

“We can whisper different things,” Gabe says.

“Go on,” Patrick encourages.

“Look, all we’ve ever done is whisper right. ‘Do this, do that,’ and humans do it. So why don’t we just whisper different things?”

“‘Donate all your money to giving hungry people food and homeless people houses?’” Pete suggests.

“I mean, it’s worth a shot, right?” says William.

“The world has enough in it to feed and house people,” Andy says. “It’s out of balance.”

“A thumb on the scale,” Patrick says. “That’s us. This non-interventionist strategy Heaven’s got going on: We’re not doing it anymore. We’re doing _good_. The Devil is dead.”

There’s a long moment of silence while his demons absorb this.

“I mean, there’s no guarantee this would work,” Gabe says. “People are awful. We could whisper that they do the right things, and they still won’t.”

“Can’t you do your magic thing?” Pete asks. “You know, like when Patrick sings and no one can resist him?”

“Temptation?” Gerard says skeptically. “That won’t work. You can only tempt people to things they secretly want to do anyway. People don’t secretly want to be good.”

“ _Some_ people do,” Pete insists. “I swear that some people do.”

“Not the rich, powerful ones,” says Mikey, and shrugs.

“There has got to be at least one rich, powerful person you can whisper good things to and save the world,” says Pete.

***

_I kept rewriting, trying to make this “Patrick is thought to be dead” idea work, but I just couldn’t get anywhere with it. This version was especially awful because it devolved into the theology of Patrick becoming the Devil in the first place and I decided I didn’t want to deal with any of that._

“Alvin thinks I’m dead,” Patrick murmurs thoughtfully. That makes sense. Of course Alvin would think that. Alvin burned him last night, and if Alvin had stuck around for Patrick’s performance then he had watched Patrick fall apart on stage. _Alvin thinks he’s dead_.

“What does that mean?” asks Pete.

“It means there’s no Devil in Hell,” Patrick says.

“I mean,” says Joe, “it should be one of us. We should be squabbling about it. That was what happened when you became Devil, right? The demons all fought.”

His demons are all too young to remember Patrick taking control. Patrick shakes his head. “God chose me. I _wasn’t_ squabbling. I was chosen directly by God.”

“You met Her?” asks Brendon.

“No. No one ‘meets’ God. She—I can’t explain it. It was...a dream.”

“We don’t sleep,” William points out. 

“I know. I said that I can’t explain it. I just know that She said it was supposed to be me. And then I just...was.”


End file.
